


Basic Queer Studies

by fruit_loops



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Best Friends, Drug Use, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Internalized Homophobia, Love Confessions, M/M, Substance Abuse, Unrequited Love, and maybe a little more!, but no fluff, my bad - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-19 01:41:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29499747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fruit_loops/pseuds/fruit_loops
Summary: Five times Troy lets his internalized homophobia get the best of him, and the one time where it was too late.
Relationships: Troy Barnes/Abed Nadir
Comments: 20
Kudos: 99





	Basic Queer Studies

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this entire fic and then found out troy and i had the same mbti types (enfp) and now im happy but this fic definitely is not!!!  
> so am i projecting onto him maybe a little
> 
> im not gonna lie coming up with the title was harder than writing the entire fic itself. why are canon community titles so hard. i was contemplating naming the fic steve
> 
> anyways
> 
> thanks for reading

1.

For as long as Troy can remember, he’s had a tire swing in his backyard. Granted, that’s not very long as he’s only seven, but still.

It's a large tire with three knots coming out of the inside, making it look like an upside down jellyfish as it hangs from the largest branch of his oak tree. He’s tried telling his mom about how much of a sea creature it looks like but she just nods and laughs in a way where Troy can tell she’s not really paying attention.

Its large and looming presence casts a shadow in his backyard, a shadow that used to seem miles long until Troy realizes that the tire really isn’t that big after all.

Seated on the side of the tire ( _do tires have sides?_ ) and his feet outstretched, a bubble of excitement bursts out of him as his dad places a hand firmly on his back and pushes the tire up.

He’s seven. He isn’t scared anymore; he doesn’t need his dad to hold him steady or rock the tire swing. But he never says anything because the truth is, he loves the feeling of security, the thought that his father is always going to be there to catch him, even if he falls.

His hands grip the tire like there’s no tomorrow because there isn’t. Because all that matters is today. Right now, he is having fun, giddy off of the way the wind holds his hair like an old friend as he can’t stop the laugh that escapes from his throat.

As time goes by, he doesn’t use the tire swing as often, but he finds comfort in the fact that it's still there.

He’s 11. Tryouts are soon, and a couple of friends come over to play a game of football with him. Troy is inordinately excited, bouncing on the balls of his heels as the group of four make their way to Troy’s backyard.

Cast in a golden halo, the sun irradiates the backyard, making everything seem even more colorful and vibrant than usual. Troy is already beginning to sweat, the sun beating down and drenching him in heat. His friends seem incredibly hot as well, a bead of sweat trailing down Ricky’s forehead as his face illuminates in the golden hour. Troy tries not to think about it.

“You guys ready to play football?” Troy has his hands on his uncle’s old leather football, the one passed down to him on his 9th birthday. He remembers his eyes widening at the sight of it, the leather feeling unfamiliar on his fingertips.

“Troy, you have a swing?” He’s pulled out of his thoughts and glances at the tire swing Gil is pointing to.

“Oh, uh--yeah.” The corners of his mouth perk up at the sight of it.

Ricky playfully taps Troy’s arm with his elbow, pushing him back a few steps. “That’s so girly!” The rest of the boys laugh as Ricky places his hand on Troy’s shoulder before Troy shrugs it off. He regrets it as the spot where Ricky’s hand was, tingles in its absence.

“Shut up! It has a tire in it!” He forces a smile he hopes doesn't betray the sinking feeling of disappointment in his stomach. And just like that his bubble pops not bursts, and he wants nothing more than to curl in on himself like an armadillo or a roly-poly or an octopus or whatever other animal curls in on itself and is also cool. “Tires are very manly.”

“Whatever.” Ricky rolls his eyes and they all knock into him, readying their positions in his backyard. “You coming Troy or what?”

He tries to ignore the sparkles in his stomach at the way Ricky says his name. _Not sparkles, something manlier. Screws? Screws in his stomach? Whatever._

He has a fun time, except for the moments where his eyes wander to the tire swing and that ball of negative emotions reappears again.

After an hour of playing football and another hour of playing video games in his room, he watches as they all make their way out of his house with waves of goodbye and wide smiles that make Troy feel something inside that he knows he isn’t supposed to feel.

The next day, when his father asks him why he wants to take down the tire swing, he just says that he’s too old.

He tries not to cry at the sight of his tire swing in the front of his house, waiting to be thrown out by the garbage collectors the next morning.

It doesn’t work.

2.

Standing on Jenny’s front porch holding a 12 pack of Coors beer, it suddenly dawns on Troy that he does not want to be here. But it’s too late, he told everyone he was coming and if he doesn’t show then everyone would think he is a wuss and Troy Barnes is a lot of things but he is not a wuss.

“Troy!” Jenny yells, throwing an arm around him before leaning her entire weight onto the hug. Troy stumbles a little before he catches her. He could almost see the smell of vodka emanating off of her and her blonde hair in a high ponytail that is clearly not high anymore. “I’m so glad youuu made it!” Slurring her words, she reaches down and places a sloppy kiss on his lips. Troy almost gags from the scent alone.

“Of course.” He makes no effort in hiding as he wipes off the saliva and the taste of vodka from his mouth.

“Come in, come in!” She sidesteps as best as she can, still holding on to Troy for support.

Empty red plastic cups and bottles of beer litter the floor, but the smell of alcohol is even more prominent, as teenagers ranging from 16 to whatever the hell else binge on alcohol like it’s an antidote to an anti-zombie disease or something. Troy can’t even hear what song was playing over the flashing of the lights which shouldn’t even be possible but it is. He wants to leave and he wants to leave right now but then Stephen passes him a cup of beer and expects him to down it all right there and since he’s not a wuss that’s what he does and he immediately regrets it and now everything is fuzzy and maybe another beer is going to fix that so he asks Stephen quite loudly for more.

Before he knows it, he slams Jenny against the door of her bedroom while her hands trail his ass in a way that should be hot but it's not doing anything for him. Her hands reach up to lightly scratch the skin under his shirt, while he works at undoing the bra underneath her own. This is going to happen, it’s going to go down like it has plenty of times before but for some reason he doesn’t feel good about it despite how hot Jenny is and how hot this entire situation is.

A knock on the door startles the both of them into stopping. “Pack it up lovebirds! Danny’s cousin has a surprise for us downstairs!”

Troy internally thanks this random stranger for the interruption as he pulls himself off of Jenny and tries to act disappointed about it. “Fuck. Should we go? I think we should go.” Troy says, maybe a little bit too enthusiastically. Jenny nods and tells him to go ahead while she re-attaches her bra and Troy breathes a sigh of relief but then chalks that up to the alcohol.

Downstairs is even worse than upstairs, with the mustiness and all the dust making the alcohol seem stronger in smell. The wooden paneling of the basement attracts Troy in a way that makes it seem like it's from a 1980s movie but the dozens of teens smoking a joint immediately makes him hate it. It’s not like Troy has never smoked before; quite frankly, he likes the way it makes him feel light-headed; but it’s just too much and all at once and Jenny leaning on him for support is absolutely not helping right now and he would much rather be at home watching _Days of our Lives._

“Troy, Jenny! Come over here!” Stephen calls for the both of them, but only looks at Troy and _wow, this feeling is weird did he accidentally listen to Come Sail Away by Styx again?_

Jenny laughs in that giddy way and twirls her hair at the mention of her name, forgetting completely that her boyfriend is right next to her. _Boyfriend, best friend, friend with benefits, whatever._ He isn’t really that invested in the relationship anyway.

They make their way over to the large circle where Troy sits down next to Stephen. “Criss-cross applesauce”, Troy thinks in the way he always does when he sits with his legs crossed over each other. But then he notices that his and Stephen’s knees are touching and his entire mind goes blank.

“Here.” Stephen passes the joint he was just smoking from to Troy who takes it hesitantly. “You don’t mind I worked on it a little before you came, did you?” Stephen adds with a smile that makes Troy forget what his name is. His hair, usually parted in the middle, is now wild, coming down in waves against his forehead. Troy wishes he could feel Stephen’s hair and split it into two, the way it usually is. He shakes that from his mind.

“Uh--no. It’s fine.” He takes it and presses it to his lips. It tastes like weed, obviously, and a little bit of what Troy hopes is what Stephen tastes like. Not that he would ever want to, or even be interested in something like that, mind you.

He breathes it in, rolling his shoulders as he lets the drug take him away from the moment. His entire body tingles, the only part of him that still feels even remotely sane is the spot where his and Stephen’s knees are touching. He pushes that out of his mind as he takes another hit. This time, he breathes it in the wrong way, startling him into a fit of coughs as Stephen howls and hits him on the back. “You alright, Troy?” His voice, playful and warm, shocks Troy back into reality. He shakes his head and blinks a few times, trying to regain a sense of composure.

“Yeah, uh-- I’m fine. Thanks.”

“No problem.” Troy notices that Stephen still has his hands on his back and maybe Troy isn’t fine after all.

Stephen’s hands slide ever so slowly off of his back, sending chills down Troy’s spine as his breathing becomes ever so labored.

“So uh--what are we doing?” Troy asks, shaking Stephen’s hands off of his back and passing the joint to Jenny, who gladly takes it.

“Spin the bottle.” Noah answers, before taking a hit of his own blunt.

“Really? Isn’t that a little, I don’t know, baby-ish?” Troy adds, desperately not wanting to play spin the bottle with a bunch of stoned teenagers.

“You scared, Barnes?” Lisa adds, winking at Troy and sending him a dazzling smile. She has bright, red lipstick that doesn’t really match the shade of her skin and Troy decides that that is the reason why he does not want to kiss her.

“Shut up, Lisa.” Olivia taunts, shoving her friend with her arm. She also has bright lipstick that does match the shade of her face, so Troy has no excuse on why he doesn’t want to kiss her either. “You just want to kiss the star quarterback, don’t you?” Several people snicker as both Troy and Lisa blush, but definitely for different reasons.

“Whatever, let me just spin the fucking bottle.” She takes her beer bottle and dumps the rest out right on the carpet before crawling to the middle of the circle, where several boys not-so secretly check her out.

“Nice ass.” He hears Lucas cat-call as another boy wolf whistles and Troy really wants to go home.

She spins the beer bottle, and everyone watches it twirl around a few times, entranced in the way it moves and curious as to where it’s going to land. The neck of the bottle lands on Aiden before several cheers erupt from the stoned teenagers. Lisa takes Aiden by the collar of his shirt and they messily make-out, undignified sounds coming from the both of them as Aiden grabs her ass.

“That’s enough, sit down!” cries Olivia, pulling her best friend back to her spot next to her. Lisa wipes her lips with the back of her hand, smearing off her lipstick with it. Aiden has a little bit of Lisa’s bright red lipstick on him too. Several boys surrounding Aiden clap him on the back, including Stephen so Troy feels compelled to cheer too.

Several rounds of spin the bottle occur with wet and sloppy and stoned kisses as Troy desperately wishes that the bottles doesn’t land on him.

Amy spins the bottle, and Troy watches with horror as it lands on Stephen.

Troy can’t help the _“fuck”_ that escapes from his lips, and it was a little too loud because everyone soon turns to face him.

“Uhh--shit.” Troy stutters in his response, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop them. “Sorry, I really wanted the bottle to land on me.”

Whispers follow the confession as Stephen turns to face him and Amy grows bright red. He can see Lisa furrowing her eyebrows and muttering something to Olivia right next to her, something about Amy’s purple dress, which Troy thought was actually kinda cute. He likes Amy. She has long black hair and is good at chemistry. He can see Jenny’s disappointed face in the corner of his eyes and he kind of wishes he couldn’t.

Amy leans in to Stephen, a light peck on his lips, tame compared to everyone else’s. She eyes Troy and gives him a little wave, a wide smile spread on her face as she crawls back to her spot around the circle.

Stephen takes the bottle, tossing it between his hands before placing it down and spinning it, laughing just like the rest of them as they all lean forward in their seats, waiting to see who it lands on.

And because the universe hates Troy, he can feel time slowing down as the bottle comes to a stop right in front of him. This time, Troy has enough sense not to say _“fuck”_ out loud.

The group breaks into fits of laughter as Stephen turns to look at him with a coy smile on his face.

“Kiss him! Kiss him!” Chants surround the two of them, but for how loud they are, Troy can’t seem to hear anything over the beating of his own heart growing louder and louder, faster and faster.

“Hey.” Stephen presses his hand against Troy’s face, an act that seems way too gentle for a game of spin the bottle. “Let’s give them a show, huh?”

Stephen leans in first, his hand resting on Troy’s knee. Troy forces himself to lean in as well, his hands sitting awkwardly on his lap.

It’s a kiss. Just a kiss. But Troy suddenly feels stone-cold sober and despite how familiar this seems, it feels so much more right than what Troy has ever felt in his life. Stephen still has his hands on his face, caressing his cheeks and then pulling on his lip. They pull away, and only then does Troy notices the raucous laughter and the pointing and even though the group isn’t making fun of the two of them, it kind of seems like that.

But Troy isn’t even worried about that. He isn’t even worried about the fact that there are phones out and videos of him kissing Stephen are going to be the talk of the school next Monday. All he can think about is that he just kissed a boy.

And it felt so right.

The rest of the party passes by in a blur. The bottle doesn’t land on him after that and at 1 in the morning, the crowd disperses and everyone drives home, even though many of them definitely should not have.

Troy takes Amy home that night. More to uphold his reputation than anything else.

3.

Troy’s never watched _Brokeback Mountain_. Not only because he grew up with the mentality that all gay people were sinners and belonged in hell, but because he secretly watched _Donnie Darko_ as a 10 year old and couldn’t sleep for a week after that and now he hates any movie with Jake Gyllenhaal.

He doesn’t mind it so much when he watches with Abed though. Abed smells nice and always has the softest sweaters and blankets and loves talking through movies which comes in handy especially when watching scary movies where Troy tends to get lost in his own head.

What Troy’s trying to say is that he loves Abed. _Shit, that’s not it._

But anyway they’re watching _Brokeback Mountain_ and while Troy would usually take this time to curl into Abed and rest his head on his shoulder, that’s not what’s happening right now. In fact, Troy is as far away from Abed as he can be while also not being too obvious about how uncomfortable he is.

It’s not like it’s Abed’s fault. Troy is just feeling extra odd for some weird reason that definitely has nothing to do with the two men kissing that makes Troy feel weird but also good? Good in the way where his stomach has butterflies right after a nice kiss or a duet in a community college hallway to a missing rat. Good in the way where he would feel giddy and maybe even a little high after he made Abed smile or say cool four times. Good in the way where he wouldn’t mind recreating this scene with the next person he sees and _oh! that next person is Abed!_

Fuck.

He really wants to kiss Abed.

He moves even more to the edge of the couch. It’s clear that Abed notices the shift in the overall mood because Troy is convinced that he is a secret god.

“Troy?” Abed asks, pausing the movie and turning to face him which is a little bit of a surprise to Troy as Abed never pauses movies, no matter the situation. Annie once burst into Abed’s dorm room, yelling about how Britta had set the study room table on fire and Abed had held up his finger and waited to finish the scene before running to the library. “Are you okay? We can watch something else if you want.”

“Uh--no. It’s okay. I guess I’m just stuck in my own head.”

Abed reaches over to take Troy’s hand, something he rarely does. Troy instinctively lets go, flinching at the contact. Abed tilts his head before turning his eyes back to the screen, his mouth now slightly curved downward. Troy’s eyes begin to brim with tears as he tries to hide himself in his own shirt.

He sinks a little deeper against the arm of the couch, watching the bright pictures flash against the TV but not taking in any of the sounds and words. His mind, already swimming with fear and insecurity, had no more room to take in anything of what was happening. He just wanted to go home.

No. Not home, to Abed. He wanted Abed.

He sinks deeper into the couch.

After the movie ends and the credits roll (Abed liked to acknowledge the work done by the creators of the movie _“to make them feel seen”_ ), Troy absent-mindedly sees Abed get up and move into the bathroom.

“You can stay here and sleep in the bottom bunk if you want. Or the top. You can choose.”

Troy answers from underneath the collar of his shirt. “I’m actually going to go back to my house, if that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Abed walks into the bathroom, taking his pajamas with him before peeking his head out of the doorframe. “Wait. You walked to school this morning. And it’s very cold outside. Are you sure?”

Oh shit. Troy completely forgot about that. He doesn’t want to walk home. But he doesn’t want to stay here in the dorm either. Not after the movie. Not after the weird butterflies in his stomach. And not after Abed… Just. Abed.

Troy rubs the back of his neck as his heart pumps faster and faster; he’s taking a long time to answer and surely Abed is judging him for that right? Does Abed even want him staying over after how shitty he’s been acting tonight? Probably not. “Yeah. Thanks though. It’s not that cold, I think I’ll be fine.”

It was, in fact, extremely cold and Troy was not fine. He regrets not taking a jacket to school. He thought it was going to be fine. It was warm in the morning! His father could have warned him or something when he saw Troy leave with nothing but a long-sleeved sweater. But why would he knowingly start a conversation with his own son!

Troy was teeming with hatred and insecurity and coldness and he could barely feel the tears coming down his cheeks. He’s surprised they didn’t freeze right there on his face. Fuck. Why didn’t he just stay there with Abed? He could have been warm and comfy on the bottom bunk of Abed’s bed, wearing fluffy pajamas that smell exactly like him. Maybe he could have even curled up next to him on the top bunk, his head on Abed’s chest while he ran his fingers through Troy’s hair, calming him down in a way that only he ever could. Maybe he could have even had the courage to lean up and kiss him right there. And maybe Abed would lean in and kiss him back, like Troy wished he would so many fucking times.

But then Troy remembers that he’s not supposed to think those things, not supposed to think like that at all, and the tears fall even more as the only sounds he can hear are the sobs escaping his own throat while he walks back to his house with a dad who doesn’t love him as much as the person he just left does.

4.

It took a week for the study group to realize that Troy and Abed were, in fact, not dating. Just two best friends sharing an apartment with large pop art and a bulletin board of their childhood photographs.

During a study session, Troy asks Annie if she knows any nice restaurants to take his “girlfriend”. And yes, that “girlfriend” is actually Abed, to celebrate one month in their new apartment, but the study group doesn’t need to know that.

“Wait.” Britta chimes in, the same look of confusion matching the other four members. “What girlfriend? Aren’t you and Abed dating?”

Troy widens his eyes before looking at Abed and tilting his head, the same way Abed does when he’s confused too. “Uh, no?”

“Oh thank the heavens!” Shirley cries, clasping her hands together and smiling towards the sky, or the ceiling of the library. “I wasn’t going to say anything while I thought you guys were together but you do know homosexuality is a sin, right?”

Troy’s heartbeat starts picking up.

“Shirley!” Britta cries, a look of indignation on her face. Britta never has the upper hand so when she does she likes to milk it. “I think it’s cool to be gay, right Troy?”

Troy stammers, shaking his head and emphatically moving the hands. “I-I-I-I don’t know what you’re talking about Britta. I’m not gay.” His hands fly up, like he’s been caught in a web of lies stemming from a lie he doesn't even know is real or fake.

“Oh, honey,” Annie cries, with those doe-eyes that puncture him, the exact opposite of what doe-eyes are meant for. “It’s okay if you’re gay.”

“But I’m not!” Troy cries, a little bit too panicked and a little bit too desperate.

She’s staring at him like he’s fragile, like he’s made of glass. Is this what Abed feels like when the study group smothers him? He hates this. He’s not brittle, he’s not ready to break at any moment. He hates feeling like this, like he’s an animal trapped in a cage, forced to do nothing but watch as kids tap on the glass and stare at him like he’s a foreign object.

“Well you don’t have to be gay. You can be bi, pan, ace, gay, trans, genderfluid, non-binary, etc. It’s okay to be yourself, Troy. I am a proud supporter of the LGBT community and having a gay friend is awesome!” Britta means well. Her eyes are shining and her hands are on her hips like she’s a female superhero but every second her monologue drags on, Troy just feels more sick to his stomach.

“Why are there so many options? If people could just choose to be straight then the world would have a lot less problems, I’ll tell you that.” Shirley adds under her breath. The entire group can still hear her.

Jeff scoffs, rolling his eyes before he continues texting on his phone.

Troy doesn’t know what’s worse: Shirley being openly homophobic, or Jeff not caring that she’s openly homophobic.

“C’mon. Even I can tell that you and A-bed are gay lovers. You guys moved in together and are now having gay sex or doing whatever it is gay people do. Do you guys dress like women or are you not that kind of gay?”

Shouts from Annie and Britta are clearly heard, while Jeff ignores the commotion, clearly unbothered with the events that happen in almost every study group session. Abed’s attention is focused solely on Troy.

“Are you okay? Are you fine or fyne?” Abed slowly taps his knee against Troy’s own, a small reassurance that he’s there for him, always will be.

“I’m fyne.” Troy replies with a small smile and soft nod of his head. Maybe if he keeps telling himself that it will come true.

5.

He feels weird asking Abed to take down their Dreamatorium. Three months later and it still feels weird, living in what was once the most special place in the world to him. With Britta fast asleep next to him, he likes to walk around the room. While once painted a dark black, covered in strips upon strips of orange tape, is now just a faded burnt orange. A burnt orange that reminds Troy of Abed even though he knows it shouldn’t.

Being with Britta is nice. It’s warm and welcoming, the kind of life that a younger version of him would picture happening. She’s a blonde, a gorgeous one at that with a tough and lively spirit and a sharp tongue that can snap remarks as well as she can take them. On paper they’d be perfect together, one too tough and the other too sensitive, able to balance each other out in a beautiful way.

So why doesn’t it work?

Troy already knows the answer. He’s pretty sure everyone does.

_Abed._

It’s not like Abed tries to get in the way of his and Britta’s relationship. When Troy asked to take down the Dreamatorium, Abed obliged with no problem at all. Hell, he even offered for Britta to take his spot in their wishing well traditions. Troy doesn’t understand what the problem is.

Abed is obsessed with pop culture, he loves eating buttered noodles, and his favorite superhero is Batman. It’s not like he’s ever done or will do anything wrong.

He also has the biggest imagination Troy has ever seen and he is also surprisingly the strongest person Troy has ever seen as well? Even with those noodle-like arms and cigarette jeans that somehow complement his long legs perfectly. He even smells nice! Like chocolate and cotton and nostalgia and happiness and fresh puppies. Shit.

Abed’s not the problem. Troy is.

_When is Abed ever the problem?_

Troy runs his hands through his hair. He thought he liked it when people did that to him. Turns out, he only liked it when Abed did it.

It’s late. The alarm on his clock reads 2:47 A.M. Troy would love nothing more than to crawl into bed next to his girlfriend, to hug her and kiss her and actually mean it. Troy would love to love her.

But he doesn’t.

He opens the window next to his bed and flinches when it makes a small creaking sound. He glances back over to Britta, who’s still snoring with a little bit of drool spilling out of her mouth.

He crawls through the window, making his way onto the fire escape. He shuts the window behind him.

He leans forward, elbow on the railing of the fire escape as his chin is on his hand, back hunched over. Not a lot of cars down the road, but the lights cast an iridescent glow on his face, the yellow of the street lights being the most prominent. He takes a deep breath, feeling the wind on his face once again. It comes back to him, whisking him back to days on his tire swing, days of trying to be perfect and fitting everyone’s standards before inevitably coming short.

He takes in the smell of the city, the smell of fresh air and the bakery from down the street. It smells like loving Abed.

It smells like shame.

 _“This would be a perfect cinematic shot”_ , a part of him thinks. The part of him still attached to his other half.

Troy laughs, an empty one. He hears it reverberating across the other apartments. _“How stupid am I?”_

A broken fragment of him wishes he never did that keg flip. Wishes he would have just sucked up the pain and continued to play football, to be drafted into the NFL and to have never met Abed in this stupid community college in the first place. Ignorance is bliss, is it not?

A life of undeserving fame and glory and unhappiness is what his father said he was “destined for”. Maybe if he had just smiled and nodded and said “yes, sir”, they would still be on speaking terms.

He misses his mother. Her warm hugs and shining eyes and her purse that was always filled with snacks. When he was young, he asked his mother about that purse. She tapped his nose and told him that it was a secret portal. Troy shook his head and laughed. His father used to smile and say that Troy’s laugh sounded a lot like his mother’s. Now when he says it he sneers.

He misses Abed. He still sees him, but it’s not the same. Not the same way it used to be. There’s always this air of unfamiliarity between them, something unspoken in the air of silence but clearly there. Something neither of them want to admit because as they both know, once something is spoken, or emailed, or texted, or whatever, it can never be taken back.

Most importantly, he misses himself. He misses the days where he never had to worry about who hated him or who didn’t or whether he was doing the right thing with his life. He misses the days where he just didn’t care, where the wrong comment or the wrong tone didn’t send him into overdrive. Where he didn’t constantly feel smothered by everything in his life. Where being alive was enough for him.

Fuck.

He’s standing over the railing, in nothing but a pair of basketball shorts. It’s a late night in September. He should feel cold. Nowadays, he welcomes it. It just proves to him that he’s alive, that he’s still breathing.

But now he just feels numb.

No one can ever know about this, know about the pain he’s feeling inside because it’s such a rude awakening to how he usually is, the light and fluffy person he paints himself to be. Troy has to remind himself that they don’t care about him, they only care about the person he’s pretending to be.

He wants to believe that Abed can help him, that Abed can make him feel whole again. But in truth, Abed is probably the last person Troy wants to see. Because Troy knows that Abed is that missing part of him, or a part of the part of him. That the only way to fix that part of him is to embrace it, to accept it, and to love it.

Because it’s not really missing, just waiting to be found.

But then he thinks of his dad. His mom. Shirley. Jeff. Annie. Pierce. Britta. _Abed._

No. He can’t do that.

So, that missing part remains missing. He shoves it back down inside him, taking a little bit more of out of him each day.

He opens the window and crawls back into bed, holding onto Britta like a lifeline.

+1.

“Tell me to stay and I will.”

Surrounded by piles of clothing and a half-packed duffle bag, they completely quit the pretense of packing. Troy looks up at him, into his pleading eyes, while once gentle and mysterious now coarse and distant.

“Why?” Abed asks, fingers rubbing circles on Troy’s wrist where their hands are still intertwined. “Why are you so willing to give up this opportunity to finally find yourself?”

“Because I already found myself in you!” he cries, pillowing himself in Abed’s chest. He can feel his eyes brimming with tears, but he’s not gonna cry. He can’t. He’s the one leaving on a boat trip to receive 14.3 million dollars. _Why the fuck is he the one crying?_

“That’s lazy writing, Troy.” He reaches for Troy’s chin and gently pulls it up, gazing into his eyes. “Best friends don’t lie. What’s the real reason?”

Abed tilts his head and Troy melts.

“Because I love you.”

Troy is waiting for Abed to pull away, waiting for him to scoff and shake his head in disgust like the way his dad used to do, the way the study group still does. But it doesn’t come.

Abed closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “What kind of love? Do you love me, or are you in love with me?”

Somewhere in Troy’s mind is the recognition of the importance of this question. This question poses a threat to everything Troy is, everything he’s wanted, and everything he wants to be. _But what does he want to be?_ Troy can barely tell who he is anymore, living one step at a time and hoping everyday that it’s enough and sometimes it is but sometimes it really isn’t and--

Abed’s hand gently rests on Troy’s face, rubbing the tears from out of his cheeks. Troy can still see Abed’s soft smile through his blurred vision.

And finally that missing piece slots into place, _because who does he want to be, if not with Abed?_

“In love.”

Abed’s hands stop moving. His eyes soften as his smile crinkles up, but Troy can still see the pain behind them. “Troy.” Abed says after a beat of silence. “I think you already know what my answer is.”

“I need you to say it.”

“I can’t Troy.” Abed takes a deep breath. “You’re leaving tomorrow.”

Troy quickly shifts in Abed’s chest, pulling apart and looking at him so they’re at eye level. “Yeah, but that’s the thing.” A hopeful but desperate smile on his face. “If you tell me that you love me, then I’ll stay. For you.”

Troy’s eyes are wide and pleading, tears now freely falling down his cheeks and landing on their intertwined hands.

Abed opens his mouth, his lips curved, before closing it and shaking his head.

He mouths the words, _“I can’t.”_

The tears come rushing out of him as he slams into Abed’s chest while he holds him, his arms protectively wrapped around Troy. He can’t see it, but he can feel it, the tears coming down Abed’s cheeks.

Troy could have had him. He could have been kissing Abed for years by now, whispering into his ear the promise of return and maybe the promise of something more.

But it’s too late.

He falls asleep in Abed’s arms.

The beeping of the alarm is what wakes them. They both jolt up, the sun streaming in through the window, illuminating the fear and panic in their eyes. The situation is made abundantly clear. They’re out of time.

**Author's Note:**

> hope u enjoyed it. or like, not actively hated it


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